“That’s it—too long. ’Bout time for a change, don’t you think?”
“And you never took none of the petty cash and you never took nothing home without you wrote it down.”
“Honesty is a racket with me.”
“Don’t make no joke. What I say is true. I check. I know.”
“You may pin the medal on my left lapel.”
“Everybody steals—some more, some less—but not you. I know!”
“Maybe I’m waiting to steal the whole thing.”
“Don’t make jokes. What I say is true.”
“Alfio, you’ve got a jewel. Don’t polish me too much. The paste may show through.”
“Why don’t you be partners with me?”
“On what? My salary?”
“We work it out some way.”
“Then I couldn’t steal from you without robbing myself.”
He laughed appreciatively. “You’re smart, kid. But you don’t steal.”
“You didn’t listen. Maybe I plan to take it all.”
“You’re honest, kid.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. When I’m most honest, nobody believes me. I tell you, Alfio, to conceal your motives, tell the truth.”
“What kind of talk you do?”
“Ars est celare artem.”[41]
He moved his lips over that and then broke into a laugh. “Ho,” he cried. “Ho! Ho! Hic erat demonstrandum.”[42]
“Want a cold Coke?”
“No good for here!” He flung his arms across his abdomen.
“You aren’t old enough for a bad stomach, not over fifty.”
“Fifty-two, and I got a bad stomach.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then you came over at twelve if it was 1920. I guess they start Latin early in Sicily.”
“I was choirboy,” he said.
“I used to carry the cross in the choir myself. I’m going to have a Coke. Alfio,” I said, “you work out a way for me to buy in here and I’ll look at it. But I warn you, I don’t have money.”
“We work it out.”
“But I’m going to have money.”
His eyes were on my face and couldn’t seem to remove themselves. And Marullo said softly, “Io lo credo.”[43]
Power but not of glory surged through me. I opened a Coke and, tipping it back, looked down its brown barrel at Marullo’s eyes.
“You’re a good kid,” he said and he shook my hand and wandered away, out of the store.
On an impulse I called after him, “How does your arm feel?”
He turned with a look of astonishment. “It don’t hurt no more,” he said. And he went on and repeated the words to himself, “It don’t hurt no more.”
He came back excitedly. “You got to take that dough.”
“What dough?”
“That five per cent.”
“Why?”
“You got to take it. You can buy in with me a little and a little, only hold out for six per cent.”
“No.”
“What you mean no, if I say yes?”
“I won’t need it, Alfio. I’d take it if I needed to, but I don’t need it.”
He sighed deeply.
The afternoon wasn’t as busy as the morning, but it wasn’t light either. There’s always a slack time between three and four—usually twenty minutes to half an hour, I don’t know why. Then it picks up again, but that’s people going home from work and wives whomping up a last-ditch dinner.
In the slack period Mr. Baker came in. He waited, regarding the cheese and sausage in the cold chamber, until the store was clear of two customers, both sloppy shoppers, the kind who don’t know what they want, the kind who pick up and put down, hoping that something will jump into their arms and demand to be bought.
At last the shoppers were finished and gone.
“Ethan,” he said, “did you know Mary drew out a thousand dollars?”
“Yes, sir. She told me she was going to.”
“Do you know what she wants it for?”
“Sure, sir. She’s been talking about it for months. You know how women are. The furniture gets a little worn, but just the minute they decide to get new, the old stuff is just impossible.”
“Don’t you think it’s foolish to spend it now on that kind of stuff? I told you yesterday there was going to be an opening.”
“It’s her money, sir.”
“I wasn’t talking about gambling, Ethan. I was talking about sure-fire investment. I believe with that thousand she could get her furniture in a year and still have a thousand.”
“Mr. Baker, I can’t very well forbid her to spend her own money.”
“Couldn’t you persuade her, couldn’t you reason with her?”
“It never occurred to me.”
“That sounds like your father, Ethan. That sounds wishy-washy. If I’m going to help you get on your feet I can’t have you wishy-washy.”
“Well, sir.”
“And it isn’t like she was going to spend it locally. No, she’s going to wander around the discount houses and pay cash. There’s no telling what she’ll pick up. Local man might charge more but he’d be here if she got a lemon. You should put your foot down, Ethan. Try to get her to redeposit it! Or you tell her to put the money in my hands. She’ll never regret it.”
“It’s money her brother left her, sir.”
“I know that. I tried to reason with her when she drew it. She just turned blue-eyed vague—said she wanted to look around. Can’t she look around without a thousand dollars in her pocket? You ought to know better, if she doesn’t.”
“I guess I’m out of practice, Mr. Baker. We haven’t had any money since we were married.”
“Well, you’d better learn and learn quick or you won’t have any very long. The spending habit is like a dope with some women.”
“Mary hasn’t had a chance to develop the habit, sir.”
“Well, she will. Just let her taste blood and she’ll turn killer.”
“Mr. Baker, I don’t think you mean that.”
“I do too.”
“There’s never been a more careful wife with money. She’s had to be.”
For some reason he had worked up a storm. “It’s you I’m disappointed in, Ethan. If you’re going to get any place you’ve got to be the boss in your own house. You could hold off new furniture another little while.”
“I could, but she can’t.” The thought came to me that maybe bankers develop X-ray eyes for money, that maybe he could see the envelope through my clothes. “I’ll try to reason with her, Mr. Baker.”
“If she hasn’t spent it already. Is she home now?”
“She said she was going to get a bus to Ridgehampton.”
“Good God! There goes a thousand bucks.”
“Well, she still has some capital.”
“That’s not the point. Your only entrance is money.”
“Money gets money,” I said softly.
“That’s right. Lose sight of that and you’re a gone goose, a clerk for the rest of your life.”
“I’m sorry it happened.”
“Well, you better lay down the law.”
“Women are funny, sir. Maybe your talking about making money yesterday gave her the idea it was easy to get.”
“Well, you disabuse her, because without it you can’t get any.”
“Would you like a cold Coke, sir?”
“Yes, I would.”
He couldn’t drink it out of the bottle. I had to open a package of paper picnic cups, but it cooled him a little. He muttered like retreating thunder.
Two Negro ladies from the crossing came in and he had to swallow his Coke and his rage. “You talk to her,” he said savagely and he strode out and crossed the street to go home. I wondered if he was mad because he was suspicious, but I didn’t think so. No, I think he was mad because he felt he’d lost his habit of command. You can get furious at someone who doesn’t take your advice.
41